


The Tomb of the Divalian Mists

by adrift_me



Series: Old Light, New Light [4]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, I am having feelings again, M/M, Nostalgia, Romance, this is both sweet and bittersweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:27:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28532169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrift_me/pseuds/adrift_me
Summary: “Whatever his deeds were, yours is a new path to carve,” the Guardian says. “That man is long dead.”The Crow and the Guardian travel to the resting place of the Awoken Prince and Crow's birthplace.
Relationships: Guardian/Crow, Guardian/Uldren Sov
Series: Old Light, New Light [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2090106
Comments: 6
Kudos: 60





	The Tomb of the Divalian Mists

**Author's Note:**

> The Dreaming City is on the no curse week again, which means I get to suffer soundtrack feels. Suffer with me! :D
> 
> I've also created a series here on AO3 to add all my Guardian/Crow ficlets into, so feel free to peruse.
> 
> [Come chat with me on tumblr :) I also take prompts!](https://a-driftamongopenstars.tumblr.com/)

“This is where I was awoken again,” the Crow speaks quietly. He and the Guardian stand on the edge of an island, lost in the Divalian Mists, marked only by the cage of a gazebo. Here, the winds are sweet and the air is light, and the sunlit amethyst crystals break sharply through the ground. Here is eternal autumn.

Crow steps forward, his walk ever so quiet. The Guardian follows.

They remember this place. It would be hard to forget the funeral only them and Petra were privy to. How Petra Venj carried the Awoken Prince to his final rest, on a slab of alien marble, both warm and cold to the touch just like his own body. The heavy shroud of white that they threw over Uldren’s body, either in shame of his actions or in forgiveness of them, inspite of them.

They didn’t speak speeches nor goodbyes. The tears spillt were hidden under the helmets and behind masks.

The Guardian breathes in the air, their hair flowing softly on the winds. Their eyes catch the ethereal glitter that pierces the very essence of the Dreaming City. Crow seems to be lost in thought, too, his fingertips trailing over the edge of the grave cradle. He may be another person now, but the world responds to him so naturally, comes to him at his beck and call. Autumn leaves, crisp and breaking into golden dust, drift cautiously over the marble, swept away.

“It was the first sound I heard. The winds, singing and calling to me, when Glint gave me my first breathe of Light,” the Crow continues. “I know more now of this place. But nothing still of who was buried here.”

“Whatever his deeds were, yours is a new path to carve,” the Guardian responds. “That man is long dead.”

“I am aware. Perhaps, I should be grateful to him for my existence.”

The Guardian says nothing. Instead, steps closer to the Crow, entwining their fingers together in a metal grip. They have been learning lately, studying a touch, a kiss, something more.

“Perhaps, I should be grateful that he has led me to you,” Crow says, turning clear golden eyes to the Guardian. Not a hint of darkness, not a flicker, neither in his eyes nor his heart. The Light has purged his body so thoroughly, that the Guardian’s heart aches for purity of this man.

“Why do you look at me so?” the Crow whispers, leaning in cautiously for a kiss, stealing it as carefully as the mists around them would kiss the earth.

“I admire your ability to live.”

“My life is in the hands of another,” the Crow touches his chest where a symbol of Baron Spider is splotched in white paint. “But what freedoms I have, I would rather they happen in your company, Old Light.”

The reverence of those words frighten them. The down to earth kiss that follows grounds them. And the words stay close to the Guardian’s heart.


End file.
